Deader Still

by Jordaina Sydney Robinson

  “How do apricots work?” Sabrina asked.

  Edith gave a small shake of her head. “How does any of this work, dear?”

  “Fair point.” Sabrina gestured to Edith with her pen and then scribbled something else in her notebook.

  With my headache gone I caught them up on my role play scenarios which had only gotten more peculiar as the assessment went on. About Warren and his offer of alliance. His revelation of my permanent cloud and temporary death shroud and my confirmation from Madame Zorina.

  “Does anyone else know this boy is a medium?” Edith asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m not even entirely sure he is. Why?”

  “Mediums are usually drafted straight into the GBs so it’s odd that he should somehow have escaped their notice,” Edith explained.

  “Trust me,” Sabrina sipped some of her water. “That’s not the oddest thing about him.”

  “Did you take him up on his offer, dear? It might be worth having another pair of eyes on your back if your death shroud is back,” Edith said.

  “Unless he’s the murderer looking for a place to stick the knife,” I mumbled. “But, yeah, I agreed. Madame Zorina said she couldn’t see the cloud though.”

  “It might be something related to the afterlife plane,” Sabrina suggested. “You need to ask Warren for more details on that.” Sabrina turned to Edith. “And what do the GBs use psychics for?”

  “Interrogations mainly.” Edith sipped some coffee from her takeout cup. “But depending on their skills they can have other uses.”

  “They’ve never used one on me,” I said around a mouthful.

  Edith arched an eyebrow at me. “I doubt they’ve interrogated you, dear.”

  Wasn’t that a cheerful thought? Oz with his emotional radar on one side and GB mediums with who-knew-what radar on the other.

  We finished our lunches and Edith tunnelled us to Derek’s house for his wake. Prepared for the vicious pollen onslaught, Sabrina and I were both holding our breath when we landed in the garden. Somehow we’d managed to avoid landing in any of the mourners, which I think was somehow more down to Edith’s tunnelling skill than simply luck.

  As soon as our feet were on solid ground Sabrina and I dived through the patio door, limboing to the side to avoid a guest

  “What are you two doing?” Edith stared at us, appearing completely unfazed by the amount of pollen that had infiltrated the air.

  Sabrina threw a glance my way then sniffed the air near the door and reared back, sneezing.

  “It seems neither have you have adjusted that well,” Edith said with a sigh.

  “Did you really need the hay fever to tell you that?” I asked.

  Edith pursed her lips at us before pointing to the pocket in which I’d stuffed the apricots and then turning her back on us and walking away.

  “Yeah, we’re going to eavesdrop in here,” I called after her, stepping further back from the doors. “Come and find us when you’re done.”

  Without turning around Edith lifted her hand in a wave.

  “Is she saying this is all—” Sabrina broke off in another sneezing fit. “That this is all in my head?”

  “Yep.” I offered Sabrina the packet of apricots. “You’re hallucinating hay fever and I’m hallucinating headaches.”

  “It doesn’t feel like a hallucination,” Sabrina said as she took an apricot.

  I wrapped the dried fruit up and stashed them back in my pocket. “Neither did my headache.”

  “But we have an allocation of sick days. Why do we have an allocation if we can’t use them?”

  I stared at her. “Why do you keep asking me these questions?”

  “This place sucks,” Sabrina said around the apricot.

  “You’re preaching to the choir. Do you want to take the lounge?” I asked as the apricot worked it’s magic and Sabrina’s snuffling diminished.

  “Thanks,” she said and she was out the door.

  Roughly fifteen people filled the kitchen and dining area. Numerous liquor bottles and glasses were lined up on the dining table and people were helping themselves.

  “I can’t believe it,” a dark haired girl, maybe late teens, said to another girl of a similar age, her friend or maybe her cousin. “I never knew he had a heart problem.”

  The blonde girl shook her head. “Aunt Lisa swears he didn’t. But I guess when you get old everything becomes a problem.”

  “That’s so true, Carly,” said a man, easily well into his eighties, as he poured himself a large shot of whisky and necked it. “Have I told you about my piles?”

  “Okay.” I stepped away from that conversation. I didn’t need to know about his piles. Or piles in general, since I’d never get them.

  “Well, I always said he was trouble,” whispered a lady, who bore a striking resemblance to Rebecca, as she washed teacups in the sink.

  “They had over thirty happy years, Clare,” said the other lady, who could’ve been Rebecca in ten year’s time, as she wiped one of the teacups dry and stacked it back by the kettle.

  “That’s because she never complained to you.” Clare glanced around the empty kitchen and lowered her voice. “Or borrowed money from you.”

  The older doppelgänger frowned. “What did she need money for?”

  Clare arched an eyebrow. “What do you think she needed money for?”

  “He gave that up years ago,” said the doppelgänger with a shake of her head.

  “What?” I said, looking between them. “What did he give up?”

  “Oh, really?” Clare handed the doppelgänger another cup. “Then where are her life savings?”

  The doppelgänger’s hand reached for the cup and paused halfway. “What?”

  Clare pushed the dripping cup into her hand. “She has nothing. He’s gambled it all away.”

  The doppelgänger shook her head. “No, that’s not possible. They came to Ronnie for advice about ISAs and pension schemes. Ronnie put it all away for them years ago. They’ve been paying into them regularly.”

  “Have they?” Clare arched a heavily pencilled eyebrow at the other woman. “Then where’s the money?”

  The doppelgänger frowned. “Becs said they were paying into them.”

  “She thought they were. Derek dealt with it so I don’t know where the money’s been going, but it’s not into their pension. Or at least it’s not there now.”

  “None of it?”

  “None of it.”

  “Why would she let him deal with their financial future?” I glanced between them. “If the man was a gambler giving him access to their life savings seems pretty dang stupid to me.”

  “Why would she let him deal with their life savings with his problems?” the doppelgänger asked.

  “Exactly.” I pointed to her and looked at Clare. “Well?”

  “She said it was to prove she trusted him,” Clare said with a shake of her head.

  “What’s she going to do?” the doppelgänger asked.

  “She’s hired this psychic …” The derision in Clare’s voice was clear. “I told her not to. I told her they would take her for what little she had left, but Becs said the psychic said she only had to pay if she managed to locate the money.”

  “That makes her seem a little more legitimate,” the doppelgänger mused.

  “That’s quite the generous offer,” I said into the unhappy silence. “I didn’t know Madame Zorina had it in her.”

  “Until the psychic asks for money for expenses or something similar.”

  “She won’t do that,” I said to Clare. “She has all my clothes and shoes and we work for free. What possible expenses could she have?”

  Clare shook her head. “I don’t think there will be anything to find though.”

  “I think you’re right. Most likely he took it all out for a sure thing, lost it and, instead of trying to come clean, has been trying to win it back.” The doppelgänger reached for another teacup.

  Clare
sighed and emptied the water from the bowl. “I’d imagine that’s how it went.”

  “Y’know, I never understand why people aren’t just honest about that stuff,” I said. “The truth always comes out in the end.” I felt like patting her back the way you see people showing support on television and whatnot. The way I did to the recently dead during my community service.

  “That’s true, but why are you talking to them, dear?” Edith spoke behind me and made me jump. “They can’t hear you.”

  I turned and frowned at her. “You’re as bad as Oz for sneakiness.”

  She smiled and yanked her suit jacket straighter. “Thank you, dear. Have you found anything useful?”

  “It’s not looking good for the widow.” I gestured to the two women who were now wiping down the kitchen in silence. “These two say he had a gambling problem.”

  “Really?” Edith moved into the centre of the kitchen to get a better look at them. “Do we believe them?”

  I folded my arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I think they’re Rebecca’s sisters so I’m inclined to. Did you find out anything good?”

  “Not much.” Edith moved passed me to the dining table and poured herself a large whisky. She offered me a glass.

  I shook my head. “I have no tolerance anymore.”

  “You have to build it back up.” She closed her eyes as she took a long sip. “It’s one of the best things about dying.”

  “Maybe I’ll give it a shot when I’m not a murder suspect. Or a possible murder victim. Or when I’m not being assessed. Or when Oz lets up a little.”

  “That’s no way to live, dear.” Edith put her glass down and picked up an empty one. She poured two wide fingers of whisky and handed it to me. “‘I’ll wait until I’m thinner. I’ll wait until I earn more. I’ll wait until the children are older. I’ll wait until I have more time. I’ll wait until someone’s not trying to kill me.’ You’ll wait your life away and then one day you’ll wake up dead and realise that all the things you were waiting for weren’t really in the way.”

  “Well, that’s cheerful,” Sabrina said from behind me.

  “Will everyone please stop sneaking up on me?” I turned and glared at Sabrina. “You’re going to give me a heart attack before someone gets the chance to murder me.”

  Sabrina pointed to the glass in my hand. “Are you getting drunk without me?”

  “No, dear.” Edith poured another two fingers of whisky and passed the glass to Sabrina. “We would’ve let you catch up.”

  Sabrina raised her glass. “To being dead.”

  “That’s your toast?” I stared at her raised glass.

  Sabrina lowered her glass. “What’s wrong with it?”

  I was about to answer with the incredibly long list that was still populating in my head but a high-pitched scream interrupted me. After all the screaming of the morning, it shot straight to my raw nerves. I turned to see Clare’s ashen face, slack and staring at us, while the doppelgänger pointed at our glasses and screamed like a banshee.

  As if it were a prearranged escape plan, all three of us tunnelled back to the Italian Gardens before the GBs arrived. Haunting and drinking while on probation and being assessed? Oz wouldn’t even try and fight them when they took me away for brainwashing. In fact, he might even help hold me down while they scrubbed the inside of my brain. Although that would mean getting rid of that image of my parents. There really always was a silver lining if you knew how to look.

  “Why do they always scream?” I rubbed my temples and plucked another apricot from the packet Edith had filched for me.

  “Why did they see the glasses?” Sabrina turned to Edith. “I thought when we touched stuff like that we pulled it in to our world.”

  Edith shrugged, sat on our bench and sipped some more of her drink. “Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t.”

  “Y’know what I love most about this world?” I said, flopping onto the patch of grass in front of the bench. “The rules of physics are so clear cut.”

  Edith snorted into her drink. Despite her comment about building up tolerance to alcohol, that unladylike action made me think she was a little tipsy.

  “What did you guys find out?” I asked. “The sisters say he was a gambler.”

  “He had an allotment and his friends said he was talking about taking his wife on a cruise.” Sabrina sat on the bench next to Edith and eyed her glass enviously. “A six week cruise.”

  Edith sipped at her drink. “They don’t come cheap.”

  “Do we know how much their life savings amounted to?” I asked.

  “Nope. Not until Madame Zorina pulls her finger out,” Sabrina said as she slouched back on the bench and tilted her face up towards the sun.

  “The only thing I got was that he died in his shed at the allotment,” Edith said. “And, apparently, someone had sabotaged his wheelbarrow and so he’d had to drag a bag of fertiliser across the allotment site.”

  “Someone sabotaged the wheelbarrow?” Sabrina opened her eyes and turned to Edith. “Actually sabotaged, or was it just broken through wear?”

  Edith moved her head in a sort of diagonal motion that was neither a nod nor a shake. “Apparently he was yelling about it being sabotaged the whole time he was dragging the bag and accusing everyone he passed. Why?”

  “Well, that could’ve contributed to his heart attack. Or even been the cause.”

  I turned to Sabrina. “Did you just call murder on his death?”

  “I’m not sure it’s prosecutable, but maybe.” Sabrina gave me a small shrug. “I’ve got the name of the travel agency he went to, so should we pay them a visit tomorrow? See what was happening with the cruise?”

  “Why can’t we do it later?” Edith whined and pouted like a six-year-old child.

  Sabrina turned to me. “Do I sound that whiny when I’m drunk?”

  “Don’t know. Only time I’ve seen you drunk is when I’ve been drunk.” I pointed to her glass. “She’s only had a couple of sips. I thought I was bad.”

  “I think maybe we should take her back to Madame Zorina’s.” Sabrina took hold of Edith’s hand. “Keep her out of mischief.”

  “Probably a good idea.” I stood and took hold of her other hand.

  We landed in the middle of the office floor. Madame Zorina glanced up from her desk.

  “She’s drunk,” Sabrina said as we eased a sleeping Edith into one of the visitor’s chairs. “Take care of her.”

  “Ghosts can get drunk?” Madame Zorina shook her head. “I’ve learned more about the afterlife in the last two days than I ever wanted to. I am not looking forward to dying.”

  “It’s like being alive,” Sabrina said with a shrug. “Only a lot less fun.”

  “I refuse to believe that.” Madame Zorina looked to me for reassurance.

  “I’ve been a murder suspect with a death shroud for nearly my entire afterlife,” I said. “If you’re looking for a positive review, look elsewhere.”

  “Ah.” Madame Zorina held up her finger and focused over my shoulder. “I’m glad you brought up your death shroud.” It seemed she’d softened a little on her list of demanding questions.

  I sighed. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “Well, I did some research on death shrouds—”

  “What? Like you googled it? In half an hour?” Sabrina asked, moving towards the coffee machine.

  “In a spiritual way, I suppose you could say that’s what I did. And I work quickly.” Madame Zorina moved from behind her desk to perch on the front end, casting a pointed glance Sabrina’s way as she poured herself some coffee. “No one can tell me anything about this cloud your friend claims you have, but I did find a little out about the death shroud, the shadow that I can see. And apparently, the more times you have it, the more likely you are to die.”

  Sabrina choked on her coffee. “What idiot told you that?”

  “I have it on very good authority,” Madame Zorina snipped. “You three
aren’t my only source of supernatural information.”

  “Maybe not, but we’re quite clearly your best.” Sabrina raised her coffee cup in a cheers motion and sipped some more.

  Madame Zorina thrust her hands on her hips and whirled to face Sabrina. “And what makes you think you’re so great?”

  “Well, for one, I could have told you your chances of dying increase the more times you have a death shroud. I could’ve told you that when I was alive and didn’t believe in any of this stuff.”

  Madame Zorina nodded sarcastically. “Sure you could.”

  “Think about it. The more times your life’s in danger, the greater the chance you have of dying. That’s the equivalent of people saying that most accidents happen on the way to and from work.”

  Madame Zorina frowned. “Well, they do.”

  Sabrina laughed. “Of course they do. Most driving takes place going to and from work.”

  Madame Zorina opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for air. “Well, my point’s still valid. Bridget, you need to be careful.”

  I nodded. “Right. Thanks for that. Because until you said that, I’d been running with scissors and playing with matches but now, now I’ll totally take better care of myself. I won’t even wear my ‘kill me quick’ hat.”

  Madame Zorina folded her arms and pursed her lips at me. She looked over her shoulder at a sniggering Sabrina, then to her visitor’s chair at a drunk, sleeping Edith and finally back to me. “There are days when I regret meeting you.”

  I snorted. “You and Oz should start a club.”

  Madame Zorina rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t take any more revelations. “And who is Oz?”

  “My parole officer. He doesn’t like me much either.”

  “Oz likes you fine, dear,” Edith said around a yawn. “That’s part of the problem.”

  Madame Zorina looked between the three of us. “So, you’re criminals?”

  I shrugged. “No. We’re just dead. Kinda feels like the same though.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I dinged the bell and waited at the reception desk for Alex version 2.0 to emerge from the back room. He opened the door with his perfect smile plastered to his perfect face. When he saw me the blood drained until his perfect face was perfectly pale.